Talk
by modernxxmyth
Summary: Sara sighed and he squeezed her hand. “I think I’m ready to talk now. To really talk.” MiSa. Post-4x01 and 4x02. One-shot.


**DON'T READ IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE SEASON FOUR PREMIERE! SPOILERS ARE ALL OVER THIS THING.**

Now that that is out of the way. I hope you enjoy this. I couldn't help but write it after watching last night.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Prison Break. If I did, season three would have been a whole lot different, let me tell you.

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_**Talk**_

Panic hit as hard as the times before it. Images flashed worse than before. The things that she had been through…

Sara's body shook. Her breathing was quick. She couldn't block the onslaught of memories no matter how hard she tried.

Michael walked into the room to find Sara in quite a state. Her body was shaking profusely, and she was gripping the edge of the vanity firmly, all the color disappearing from her hands, as if her life literally depended on it.

Sara lifted her eyes and looked into the mirror. She saw Michael behind her. But when she looked, it wasn't Michael. It was one of _them_. One of her torturers. Sara covered her mouth and muffled a scream.

Michael rushed towards her immediately. "Sara?"

His voice – his familiar, soothing voice – drifted through Sara's consciousness and broke her from her spell. Sara gasped on a breath. "Michael?"

"It's me, Sara. It's me." He grabbed her hand and rubbed her back comfortingly.

Michael led his still-shaking love to sit down on the edge of their bed. Her trembling slowly came to a halt, and her breathing returned to normal. Sara finally chanced a glance into Michael's eyes.

"You ready to talk?" Michael questioned in the surrounding silence.

Sara bit her lips and admitted, "I think I have PTSD."

Michael's eyebrows shot up. "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?"

Sara nodded sharply. "It started almost a month ago."

"I wish you would have told me," Michael said in a soft voice.

"I'm fine, remember?" Sara almost smiled at the reassuring memory.

A small amount of mirth shone in Michael's eyes. "You're not," he said seriously.

"Neither are you," she replied.

Michael shrugged noncommittally.

Sara sighed and he squeezed her hand. "I think I'm ready to talk now. To really talk."

"What was it like, Sara? What was it like there?"

Sara looked down and spoke in a detached voice, "Minimal food. Minimal water. Minimal everything."

"The scars?" Michael inquired quietly. His fingers traced the outlines of her scars beneath the thin material of her shirt.

"Beatings," Sara replied. "Whippings."

Michael looked at her in horror. "_Whippings_?"

"It wasn't a daily occurrence, but it happened sometimes."

Michael treaded very carefully with his next question. "Sara…they didn't…?"

"No," she whispered her reply. "It never came to that."

Michael breathed a sigh of relief but was haunted by the way she responded. As though that kind of abuse it wasn't far off. As if it easily could have happened.

"Gretchen usually liked doing the dirty work herself," Sara explained, "I'm not really her type."

"I was going to kill her," Michael admitted. "I was so close. But then she told me you were alive. I didn't believe her. Not at first. But then hope sank in, and I realized that if she was right – if you really were _alive­ _– I might need her. If I hadn't thought she could be important…I would have done it. I would have killed her." He hung his head and ran a hand over his face.

"I'm glad you didn't."

"You know," Sara began after a silence. "It's strange. Despite all the physical and mental pain I endured when I was with them…for once, it wasn't morphine I was craving."

Sara dragged a finger down his cotton-clothed chest. "It was you."

Michael smiled brilliantly and pushed a piece of hair behind Sara's ear that fallen out of place and in front of her wide eyes.

"How do you treat PTSD?" Michael asked quietly.

"Medication, usually, but it's not a cure, and it's not exactly an option for us. I just have to deal and try to work through it. Hopefully it will pass in time. But some really severe cases can last for a very long time. Sometimes people live with it forever…" she drifted off nervously.

"That won't be you. You'll be okay. You're strong, Sara."

She shook her head. "You're mistaken, Michael. I'm weak. I always have been."

"You tell yourself that and things won't ever change."

"You're one to talk Mr. Everything-Is-My-Fault-No-Matter-What."

Michael smiled a bit sadly at the retort.

"What was Sona like?" Sara questioned moments later.

"It was a hell pit," Michael responded. "The place was crazy. But it was nothing compared to what you went through, I'm sure. There were killings every few days. But the worst part was thinking you were dead. Lincoln told me that they killed you…I didn't know it was possible to feel pain like that. And the guilt…Oh, god, the _guilt_…It was terrible. Knowing without question that I was the reason you were dead. It was all too much. I don't think I would have made it out of there if I hadn't known that I needed to save LJ. I probably would have just let them kill me. Enough of them wanted me dead. You know how I tend to stir up trouble," he remarked with a dry humor. "And I missed you. I missed you so much. The loss of you, thinking that you were gone forever…" an involuntary shudder passed through his body. "It's hard to revisit that feeling."

Sara leaned forward when Michael was done talking and pressed a delicate kiss to his forehead. "I missed you, too. You were the only thing that kept me going. That kept me surviving in that place. I had to make it so I could see you again. I think that's why I was eventually able to escape. The need was just too much."

Michael leaned in and brought his forehead to hers, both of them together at a rest. He brought his hand to her cheek and caressed it with the pad of his calloused thumb. Sara leaned into his touch and let out a sound of contentment. His fingertips crossing her porcelain skin, Michael moved his hand and ran it through Sara's now-auburn, soft, wavy tresses.

"I like you hair," he smiled. "I missed this color. It's very pretty. Very _you_."

"It's nice to have the color back," Sara responded. "It feels like I don't have to hide quite so much anymore. If only that were _true_," she spoke wistfully.

"It will be," Michael said with an air of confidence. "One day soon, it will be."

"I'm holding you to that, Mr. Scofield," Sara grinned, falling into their usual flirtatious banter.

"I'm a man of my word, Dr. Tancredi."

Fin.

I hope you enjoyed that little story. I couldn't help myself. I wrote it during first and third period haha.

Didn't do so hot on the pop quiz first period, what with me not paying attention and just writing. But whatever.

Did you guys like the start of the season? I thought it was fabulous. This is going to be a really good season. I can tell.


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